


So Tight I'd Bruise You

by Dont_touch_the_phlebotinum



Series: Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo [6]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Established Relationship, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:01:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29491014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dont_touch_the_phlebotinum/pseuds/Dont_touch_the_phlebotinum
Summary: Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo prompt 6: Branding/marking.Geralt is a man carved by violence, his body a map of the things he’s endured. But sometimes, the marks littering his skin are born of passion, not pain.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079273
Comments: 8
Kudos: 155
Collections: Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo





	So Tight I'd Bruise You

Jaskier clutched at his arm to try and stem the worst of the bleeding. He feared it was already far too late to save his doublet, however. The tear he could stitch easily enough, but the green silk was far too light to even pretend the deep, violent red now staining it was an intentional design choice. And he'd been particularly fond of this outfit as well, he thought bitterly. That was what he got for trying to make a good impression. Not that it did them much good, anyway.

Ahead of him Geralt stormed through the doors to the brothel they had been calling home during their stay in town, terrifying the poor girls lounging downstairs and leaving Jaskier to offer his hasty apologies as he rushed after him. The corridor leading to their room was mercifully empty — the patrons well occupied elsewhere — but still Geralt looked about suspiciously as he opened the door and ushered Jaskier inside.

"Sit down," he growled while he turned to lock and bolt the door, "before you cause any more trouble."

"Wait a minute," said Jaskier. "You're angry at _me_?"

Geralt still wasn't looking at him, instead crossing the room to close the window shutters and draw the thick velvet curtains, his shoulders rigid with tension. "You could have got yourself killed."

"How was I to know he'd set his brute on me?"

"You threw a punch at a _lord_ , Jaskier — what did you think was going to happen?"

"He wasn't going to pay you!"

Geralt looked back at him with the same sceptical expression that Jaskier found himself on the receiving end of far more often than he was comfortable with. "And you thought trying to punch him would put him in a generous mood?"

"Of course not," said Jaskier. He wasn't an idiot. He didn't voice that thought, though, lest Geralt take it as invitation to vehemently object to that assessment. "It just made me feel better."

With a roll of his amber eyes Geralt turned to their belongings piled in the corner and began rooting through them for his salves and a needle and thread. It was a good thing Jaskier had thought to see them well supplied before Geralt's hunt, despite their rapidly diminishing funds. He hadn't expected to be the one in need of stitches, however.

Jaskier closed his eyes for a moment, his arm aching and heavy, and took a breath.

"Here," said Geralt, and he was at Jaskier's side again, hands gentle as they teased Jaskier out of his ruined doublet and shirt. Jaskier did his best not to wince at the movement.

"I didn't know he had a knife," he offered, once Geralt had begun tending to his arm. It was strange, after so many years of patching up Geralt's wounds, to find himself on the receiving end for once. He could hardly say he minded it, though. In fact, Jaskier thought, he might be inclined to throw himself into danger more often just to have Geralt fuss over him afterwards.

Geralt looked up at him. There was something softer in his expression; more fond exasperation than anger. "Would it have stopped you if you did?"

Jaskier didn't answer.

"Hmm."

"But really, Geralt, what kind of dishonourable scoundrel reneges on a—"

"Jaskier," Geralt said, with the tone of one talking to a very young, very stupid child. "How many men do you think become lords by parting with money they don't have to?"

Jaskier let out a heavy sigh — less because Geralt was right, and more because the topic of conversation was veering into dangerous territory. Jaskier had worked exceptionally hard over the years to bury any and all memories of his family, and he'd rather not see them dug up again. He focused on the sting of the needle piercing his skin instead.

"You make a fair point," he said.

"I usually do, if ever you listened," said Geralt, a teasing smile playing at his lips. His eyes flicked to the door, his attention evidently caught by some sound far too quiet for Jaskier to hear. Whatever it was, Geralt didn't seem concerned by it. If there was one thing you could expect to find in a brothel, it was a rather large amount of noise, after all. He turned his attention back to Jaskier's arm. "There'll be a mob gathering outside for us before long."

"Perhaps, but they'll not get in," said Jaskier. "Dear old Ida won't allow any harm to come to us beneath her roof. And every man in town has an interest in staying on her good side if they ever plan on paying a visit to her girls again."

"I don't think I want to know how you manage to foster such a personal relationship with every brothel owner on the Continent."

Jaskier grinned. "All part of my considerable charm."

Geralt offered only a vague hum in response. "The cut isn't deep," he said as he set down the needle and thread and began winding a bandage around Jaskier's arm. "It should heal easily enough."

"Wherever would I be without my handsome witcher?"

"Dead," Geralt replied, rather too pointedly.

He stood to discard his supplies, and Jaskier watched in appreciation as Geralt's armour and shirt soon followed. The set of his shoulders was more relaxed now as he bent over the wash basin to scrub away the blood and various monster bits spattered across his fair skin.

"You didn't tell me about the hunt," said Jaskier. As he spoke, he tested the movement in his newly bandaged arm, before standing and shedding the last of his clothes. This late in the spring the night air was still warm, so he made no hurry to climb under the bedcovers.

"In the morning," said Geralt. "I think you've had more than enough excitement for one day."

He crossed back to join Jaskier, his hair hanging loose and gorgeous around his shoulders, the light of the candles casting him in a soft glow, and Jaskier pressed a hand to Geralt's firm chest. His fingertips teased at the rough skin of a scar just above Geralt's heart. "No such thing, my dear," he said.

Geralt rolled his eyes, even as a smile stretched across his reluctant lips. "You're impossible."

"Oh, very much so," replied Jaskier with a grin as he leant in closer — not close enough to kiss, but enough to make sure that was the only thing Geralt would be able to think about.

As his gaze flicked down to Jaskier's lips, Geralt's own parted slightly in anticipation.

Jaskier didn't oblige him yet, though. His hands had begun roaming farther across Geralt's skin, mapping out well explored terrain, the scars he had learnt by heart on so many nights tending to Geralt after a hunt, and despite his own desire to sink forward into the waiting kiss he was content to savour the feel of Geralt's body beneath his palms for a moment longer.

"Look," he said, his fingers trailing over a scar on Geralt's arm, neat and thin — clearly the work of a blade rather than a beast. "Now we match."

But rather than laugh, or give one of his patented 'hmm's, or even take Jaskier's face in his hands and kiss him silly like Jaskier really wanted, Geralt bristled at the words and took a step back.

"You don't want that."

"What, being ruggedly handsome enough to have people throwing themselves at me when I walk into a room?" said Jaskier, as he closed the gap between them again. Another step and they'd be at the bed.

"That's never happened."

"It happens all the time, darling. You're just too dense to notice. But I suppose you're right," he added airily. "My own devastating good looks have served me well enough so far."

Geralt arched an eyebrow — that warm, honeyed glint of humour in his eyes again — and Jaskier pressed his finger to Geralt's lips to silence the scoff he knew was coming. As he did so he felt Geralt's hands come to rest delicately on Jaskier's bare hips, his palms rough but warm and full of care.

"You were supposed to be kissing me," said Geralt.

Jaskier smiled and closed the distance between their mouths. And maybe it was the excitement of Geralt's hunt, or the chaos that had followed it, but rather than tease and hover and savour the soft press of one another's lips, the kiss quickly deepened, until Geralt's fingers were clutching tight at Jaskier's hips and Jaskier couldn't help but rub himself against Geralt's still-clothed cock.

Geralt was the first to break their kiss. He pulled back with a gasp, his hands on Jaskier's shoulders to hold him back as Jaskier chased after his lips. "You're hurt."

"Barely," scoffed Jaskier, despite the dull throbbing beneath his bandages, and ducked his head to shower kisses across the broad expanse of Geralt's chest. With one hand Jaskier reached down for the laces of Geralt's trousers. Before he could pull them apart, however, he slipped his palm lower, brushing over Geralt's hard cock and drawing a shuddering breath from him.

"Besides," he added, still massaging Geralt through his trousers, "I have never spent the night in a brothel without getting spectacularly fucked before, and I am _not_ about to start now."

Eyes lidded and dark, a slow smile crept across Geralt's face. His lips met Jaskier's then.

It was a rush of a kiss, breathless and fevered, Geralt's hands coming to cup Jaskier's face as if he couldn't get him any closer if he tried. Jaskier moaned against his lips. His head was spinning already. One of these days he really needed to ask Geralt how he managed that.

All around them they could hear muffled moans and cries, and Jaskier was rather keen for their own to join the din.

He pushed Geralt back onto the mattress, his hands reaching for Geralt's trousers before Geralt could even push himself up onto his elbows to watch him. It was a good thing Jaskier wasn't self-conscious, the way Geralt insisted on staring at him while they were intimate, his gaze so beautifully intense Jaskier couldn't help but stare back. He pressed a swathe of kisses down Geralt's muscled chest as he pulled Geralt's trousers past his hips.

"Jaskier," Geralt said, his voice already strained, to Jaskier's delight. He reached a hand out to keep Jaskier from sinking down between Geralt's legs and taking him in his mouth. "Come here."

"What do you want?"

"You."

Jaskier grinned. "Fortunately for you, dear witcher," he said as he straddled Geralt's hips, "I am most happy to oblige."

With a rough hand Geralt pulled him down into another deep kiss, and Jaskier shifted until he could feel Geralt's hard cock nudging against his own. He rocked his hips against it while Geralt gave a soft noise of pleasure beneath him. One strong arm wrapped around Jaskier and in a heartbeat he was on his back with Geralt above him.

His lips travelled down Jaskier's neck and over his chest towards his navel, and Jaskier arched beneath Geralt's talented mouth. His heart was beating so hard that even without his witchery senses Geralt would have surely been able to hear it, his hands slipping into Geralt's hair as Geralt's finger teased at his entrance and a moan ripped free from Jaskier's chest. Before the wayward digit could press inside him, however — and before Geralt's lips could close around Jaskier's rather insistent tumescence — Geralt pulled back without warning.

"Is this too much?" he said. From the sound of his voice he was as wrecked as Jaskier felt.

"Not nearly enough," panted Jaskier.

Geralt grinned.

He pushed himself away — as much as Jaskier would have liked to enjoy having him between his legs a while longer — and turned to the dressing table, laden with enough oils and toys to make even Jaskier blush. There certainly were benefits to being offered a room in a brothel. It was a shame their stay would have to be cut short thanks to Jaskier's little misadventure; he'd had half a mind to suggest that he and Geralt linger a few days longer than necessary simply to make the most of the room's bountiful offering.

Jaskier settled himself back amongst the exorbitant amount of overstuffed pillows at the head of the bed. "Would you like me to tell you what they're for?" he said with a sly smile as he watched Geralt take in the sight of the items on display. Though really, Geralt was as familiar with the goings on in a brothel as Jaskier — if not more so — so Jaskier was sure he had at least a passing familiarity with some of the services a good whore could offer. Part of him was tempted to ask if Geralt had ever indulged.

"I think I can work it out," said Geralt, amusement in his voice. He took up a glass vial and turned to stalk back towards Jaskier, crawling between his spread legs and pressing a wet kiss to the inside of Jaskier's thigh.

"Perhaps when we have coin to spare we'll have to procure a few of our own."

"Am I not enough for you?" Geralt said, and as he spoke he pressed two thick, wet fingers inside Jaskier. He quirked an eyebrow at the moan Jaskier couldn't help but make in response, as if he'd had his answer. Jaskier would have kissed that smug look off his face if he'd had the presence of mind to move.

Instead, he rocked his hips against Geralt's fingers, head thrown back against the pillows as Geralt worked him open and finally pressed inside. "Oh, fuck," gasped Jaskier, "you feel wonderful."

Geralt peered down at him with a soft smile and kissed him again.

They moved together, gasps and moans mingling as the pleasure radiated out from where they were joined, Jaskier's hands roving over every part of Geralt he could reach while Geralt peppered his skin with kisses.

Above him, Geralt's breath caught as Jaskier's hand brushed over one of the newer additions to his collection of scars: a rough circle of raised skin just below his collarbone, courtesy of a ghoul almost taking a bite out of him. The ghoul was long gone, yet the angry maroon of the scar tissue lingered.

"Does it still hurt?" said Jaskier.

"It's just sensitive."

Gently, Jaskier ducked to press his lips to it, Geralt's hand cradling the back of his head and holding him close.

"Don't stop," breathed Geralt.

Jaskier smiled against Geralt's skin and licked and suckled at the rough scar while Geralt picked up the pace of his thrusts. His cock was pressed tight between their bodies, sliding against Geralt's firm stomach as he moved above him and gods, it felt divine, caught between the burning pressure of Geralt inside him and the friction against his aching cock. Jaskier's fingers dug in to Geralt's hips as he fought to keep from losing himself to the pleasure.

"Harder," said Geralt.

"You like that?"

He hummed, and Jaskier could feel the growing tension beneath his skin, could hear his breathing stutter when Jaskier sunk his nails into Geralt's skin and raked them across the small of his back. Geralt's mouth found its way to the side of Jaskier's neck and sucked, hard enough that he would surely find a bruise there by the morning, and Jaskier's cock throbbed at the sensation.

Geralt's face was still buried against Jaskier's neck, his breath hot. "I want you to—" he began, cutting himself off to press another wet kiss to Jaskier's skin.

"Tell me."

"I want you to leave your mark on me."

With Geralt still fucking into him and Jaskier's brain addled by the white-hot pleasure of it all, it took a moment for the words to sink in. "Do you think I'll be able to?" he said in the end. Sure, Geralt could get battered and sliced by all sorts of beasties, but Jaskier could hardly compete with a supernatural creature, could he?

Geralt met his eyes again, something sparking within them that ignited a fresh surge of desire within Jaskier's belly. "If you do it hard enough," he said, and with an arm around Jaskier he rolled until Jaskier was back on top of him, his hands pressed to Geralt's heaving chest to steady himself.

"Well," said Jaskier, doing his best to breathe as the change in angle forced Geralt's cock even deeper inside him, and he leant down to brush his lips over the pale skin of Geralt's neck, "if you insist."

He bit down, hard.

Geralt bucked beneath him, a sharp moan ripping out into the quiet of the room. He grasped tight at Jaskier's hips as they resumed their pace, and Jaskier littered his skin with biting kisses, sucking hard enough to leave red welts on his skin. He slipped down to flick his tongue over Geralt's nipple, grazed it with his teeth as Geralt's fingers squeezed tighter, and bit down.

" _Yes_ ," Geralt breathed.

They fuelled one another on, each bite and scratch teasing so blissfully at that razor-thin line between pleasure and pain, their movements growing frantic and clumsy as they raced towards their climax. Jaskier was the first to reach it, his shout muffled against Geralt's skin as Geralt continued to fuck into him, until finally his hips stuttered and slowed, and he pulled out of Jaskier with a groan.

In the lull settling over them they lay panting and entangled, soaked with sweat and one another's release. Jaskier ached from head to toe, but gods, was it worth it for the thrill sparking through his blood. If this was what he got in return, he definitely needed to get himself into trouble more often.

Jaskier peered down at his arm. Blood had begun to seep through the bandages, though the pain had lessened. "Do you think it will scar?"

"I hope not," murmured Geralt.

Jaskier looked back over at him: his eyes half-closed, already on his way to dozing off. He never had been one for the kind of post-coital small talk that Jaskier had always enjoyed almost as much as the main event. But his hands were still lazily roaming over Jaskier's skin, and with some apparent difficulty he opened his eyes to meet Jaskier's gaze.

"You wouldn't like it?"

He hummed absently. His fingers found a tender spot on the side of Jaskier's neck, the skin no doubt purpling beneath his fingertip. Jaskier was sure to be covered in marks just like it. "Prefer these ones," said Geralt.

Jaskier grinned and heaved himself onto his side to face Geralt, eyes and fingers seeking out the few reddened marks he had managed to leave on Geralt in return. Long scratches running the length of his shoulder blades; a ring of imprints from Jaskier's teeth on his chest; bruises sucked along the sharp line of his jaw.

"They're quite becoming on you, as well," Jaskier said, and Geralt smiled back at him.

It was something of a shame, then, that Geralt's mutated physiology would see them a distant memory by the time Jaskier awoke in the morning. But, Jaskier supposed as he shifted into Geralt's beckoning embrace and pressed his lips to one sanguine bruise, it would render Geralt a blank canvas to leave his mark upon tomorrow night.

He smiled to himself at the thought of doing this again.


End file.
